U13: Episode 1
This is the first episode of Ultraman: Into Thirteen, which introduces major characters and defines the setting of the story. Title: w''A''king Prologue It was... some time ago, I guess? The geomagnetic storm plagued the planet, and plunged it into darkness. Both literally and figuratively. Basically, power grids were wiped out, and telecommunications systems went poof! Snap, just like that! Really, it wasn't a huge problem, since people could just rely on independent generators to produce their own electricity, and eventually society would get itself up to speed with the electrical crisis. Surely humanity could jump over this hurdle if they worked together! But that wasn't the only obstacle humanity faced. You see, the radiation risks associated with solar flares pose a hazard to our fragile bodies, and normally it wouldn't be much of a concern, if the event hadn't had happened on such a large scale. The solar storm killed millions in just days, and left millions more to suffer from the irradiated surface. Putting that aside, what was even more amazing was the evolutionary process some humans began to experience! You see, they started to transcend our own perception of existence, and developed superhuman abilities that couldn't be explained by conventional science. These individuals were documented as being blessed by the A-Type Factor, a genetic mutation that awakened to the solar flare's prominence. There were also some who were terribly affected by the radiation, and turned into deformed monsters, rumored to be hiding in the shadows. If you'd direct your attention to the table, I have collected some samples from these... "creatures", so to speak, for experimentation purposes, of course. And so, it was up to us, the Doctors, to uncover the secrets of these immune patients, in order to push humanity towards a new stage of evolution. But you see, that's where humanity met its downfall. Once revealed to the public, people entered a state of mass hysteria, and pursued the A-Type Factor patients, in search for a cure, even salvation. Perhaps it was a side effect of the solar storm, perhaps it was just desperation. Anyhow, it was a period of certain madness, if I may say. They drove away our only chance at ascension. Humans are pitiful creatures, really. However, you, sir, possess an innate immunity I have never seen before! One that is so utterly unique, so conspicuously beautiful, that mere words alone have no way to describe its elegance! If I may dub it, give it a name, I'd call it a new kind of factor, a new step at evolution... that's right, it's the B-Type Factor! Thus, with the prospect of saving humanity in mind, would you join me in finding, and gathering together, the twelve individuals possessing the A-Type Factor? Chapter 1 "I'm sorry... what?" In a half-dead state of confusion, the man, groggy and numb, attempted to take in his surroundings, examining specks of metallic light which steadily took the warped form of abnormally-shaped clinical apparatus, and slowly discerning between person and furniture in this musty enclosed space, his vision eventually focusing on the eccentric individual standing gleefully by his side. Draped in a bright white lab coat hiding a striped blue shirt stained with black blotches within, the middle-aged person had palms together and a big smirk spread across his/her face, as if in anticipation of a desirable answer that (s)he probably already knew was to come from the faintly distraught man. However, rather than having the aged appearance of an estranged mad scientist from typical fiction, this doctor was, in fact, considerably good-looking. Not handsome, nor beautiful, but placed in somewhat of a gray area between these two qualities, making his/her gender difficult to distinguish. His/her tone of voice did not help much either, in determining this fact. If there was one particular thing to say about this "doctor", however, was the exuding, revolting stench from somewhere on his/her body, which swiftly prevented the man from making any further inquiries about his whereabouts or situation, before plugging his nose tight. "Oh, gosh! What is that smell?" "Hmm? Which smell in particular, is causing that adverse reaction?" Perplexed, the doctor questioned about the apparent stench, of which (s)he, weirdly, could not pick up. Olfactory adaptation, perhaps. "That stink, of squids and rotting guts!" "Hmm?" Taking a sniff, (s)he finally noticed the stench emanating from the mix of body odor, slime-viscous black blood, and the remnants of monstrous guts flaking off his/her rubber gloves. Slightly embarrassed, the doctor forced an awkward smile, and dashed behind the translucent plastic curtains (which were semi-drenched in an inky substance) for a change of clothes, and a fresh image. Left to his own devices, the man slumped back onto the medical bed, enveloped with sheets so clean that it was unlike the rest of this dilapidated shack of a clinic. Strangely enough, he didn't feel the need to escape this place, considering the general weirdness of the facility and its tenant, but instead felt at peace, calm even. Staring into the distant flicker, he wondered. ... Sticking out like a sore thumb from behind the curtains, was the peculiar doctor in a fresh, new set of clinical attire, contrasting against the ramshackle-y state of the quarters. To minimize the click-clack of footsteps, the doctor tiptoed his/her way towards the man, who appeared to be engrossed in the irregular sway of the scintillating, shattered light bulb. With sneaky advancements, the doctor grabbed hold of several medical tools from the table, and prepared to devour his/her next unsuspecting victim, and indulge in the experiments that were to follow. Twisting the stale air with his/her bated breath, the doctor proceeded to emit a joyful chuckle, exhibiting a state of euphoric insanity. Before (s)he could try anything, however, the man reflexively grabbed hold of the doctor's arm, disarming the startled person, before any harm could be done. "What the hell are you doing?" "Ow ow ow ow OW! Let go!" The man loosened his grip, causing the doctor, shell-shocked and alarmed at his nimble reflexes, to tumble down with a loud thud, and the age-old floorboards to resound a raucous creak from the impact. Forced into high alert, the patient exited the bed, picked up a dropped scalpel, and aimed the sharpened end at the doctor's neck. "Now, tell me, before I do something irreversible..." he tilted the barbed edge further in, at vessels ready to burst from the heat of the situation, "...just what do you want from me?" "Relax, relax! I'm not your enemy, B!" "B? Is that my name?" "Yes, yes! And if you'd just let me go, I might tell you more things about your past..." The man clutched on to the doctor's coat, and brought him frighteningly closer to the clinical knife, all while giving a deathly stare. "I want a definite answer." "Alright, I will! S'that good enough?" In response to the confirmation, the man released his grip on the doctor's ruffled collar, but still kept the miniscule weapon to his side, just in the case of a counter-assault. Fortunately for him, the doctor just heaved a sigh of relief, adjusted his/her clothes and went to take a seat on one of the many makeshift wooden stools in the room. "You really scared me there..." "I could say the same for you! What were you even trying to do, tiptoeing and grabbing the scalpel, in such a suspicious way? And that spine-chilling giggle..." "Skin cell samples for my experiments, were simply what I desired to obtain, considering your... uniqueness. I never intended to do anything too harmful..." the doctor's sentence drifted off into oblivity, as (s)he turned his/her gaze to an empty wall, whistling as if completely innocent. "Hey now..." The doctor hacked up a fake cough to clear the air, and continued his/her statement. "Setting that aside, what does intrigue me is the fact that your muscle memory is still intact." "My muscle memory?" "Yes, just right now, in fact! You procedurally recalled the carotid artery's location, one of the major blood vessels in the neck area, for humans that is." The doctor pointed to a specific area in the neck, with the man's gaze following suit. It was where he had aimed before. "If this vessel was, indeed, slit open just a few seconds ago, my blood would have been gushing out like a crimson waterfall, and would have filled this room to its brim! Amazing, isn't it? The fragility, of the human body!" Rather than a show of excitement and a round of applause for the doctor's tasteless joke, an expression of considerable disgust was plastered on the man's face. "That was just an exaggeration. Anyways, back to the main point of interest, your unique factorー" "Before that, how do you know me? Where is this place? And who am I, really?" the man briefly interrupted. "Oho, mmhmm," the doctor let out a soft chuckle, and continued rather condescendingly, "I'd rather you not ask too many questions. Don't wanna trigger some awful memories, after all!" "You better not have forgotten about our agreement," he pointed the scalpel at the doctor, and waved it around threateningly. "Of course not! I will fulfill our promise, but that depends on whether or not you're willing to do some... tasks, in return. All for the sake of my research, in this measly laboratory." "Have you forgotten that I have the upper hand here?" "Hmm? Even when your legs are trembling, from a case of anxiety?" Indeed, the man's legs were trembling like jelly, and though it wasn't showing, he was nervous. Very much so. "...dammit! Just how did you figure it out?" "I know you inside out, B. Practically better than you do yourself. Though I guess that doesn't mean much when you have dementia, huh? Hehe. Now, would you be a dear, and put down the knife?" With no other options available, listening to the doctor was the man's best bet. Placing the scalpel back to its rightful position on the surgical table, he sat down, and started to listen in on the doctor's demands. "Now, if you'd direct your attention to the screen here, we'll now talk more about this world, its people, salvation, and the untold truth, all supporting the fact that our only saviors, our only path to evolutionary ascension, and your only chance at redemption, is..." Comically slapping the whirring and buzzing projector as if it was a device from prehistoric times, the doctor finally got it to work, and three words in big, bold letters, accompanied by a seal of confidentiality, formed on the screen, which frequently glitched in and out of existence. "...the A-Type Factor." Chapter 2 ... After a long-winded explanation of the Earth's current, deplorable state due to the unprecedented solar storm, the inevitable madness of the common people, and the special few who were granted immunity to the depravity, B (as we will call him from now), though still hesitant to believe the doctor, had settled down, and attempted to absorb in the bulk-load of information regarding the A-Type Factor patients. "These A-Type Factor affectees... who exactly are they?" The doctor smirked, and prepared what seemed to be a satisfactory answer (from the perspective of a researcher, of course). "Good question. These twelve patients, as documented in the secret files, were captured, both voluntarily and against their wills, to be examined under the glass, to the highest, deepest, most microscopic of degrees in research history. Sure, some useful results were derived, like, for example, how their heartbeats sync, and yada-yada. But even then, the best team of scientists, gathered from all fields of study ー let's refer to them as the Doctors ー could not uncover nor identify a scientific model to explain the twelve's cryptic genetic makeup. Simply put, their abilities, even existences, couldn't be explained with conventional science." The explanation went on, and on. "As a last resort, though somewhat risky, the Doctors exposed these persons to serious, maybe even fatal, bouts of radiation, alike that of the solar flare. Infrared, ultraviolet, gamma; anything that was relatively harmful, you name it! Not gonna lie, it was breathtaking, watching the Doctors scramble around like little rats, adjusting instrumental equipment and mere knobs and switches. And then... *BAM*! A reaction was observed! An intense one at that, as what can only be explained as luminescent fountains of prismatic light flooded and burst through the facility, blinding the Doctors with fantastical visions of a million worlds so unimaginable, that nobody seemed to believe what was happening then. Though that may have been only me, since the rest of the Doctors were either so traumatized or mentally disturbed, some even left in a persistent vegetative state, that they ceased toー" "Wait, did you just imply that you were there?" B cut off the boring explanation with a curious question, leaving the doctor a tad bit irritated that his/her "great" monologue had to be halted for the moment. "Whoops, it seems like I've said a bit too much! A lil' too late for introductions, but since I've been unwittingly exposing myself for quite a while now, you can call me, umm..." scratching his/her head, as if in deep thought, the doctor pondered for a name, and came up with one that almost, very "vaguely", described his/her profession. "...the Doctor, I suppose." "Well, if that wasn't obvious enough." "Anyways, as you can tell, the experiment wasn't much of a success, and all twelve A-Type Factor patients managed to escape the facility with their combined might. Due to the sheer destructive scale instigated by the incident, the media soon caught wind of the news, and the public followed soon thereafter. And soon enough, all hell broke loose, as mankind, the utterly despicable animals they are, scavenged and combed through every last possible corner of the world to find these individuals, in hopes for a cure. Even salvation. Certainly, those were unpleasant times." "And what happened after that?" Shifting him/herself to the seat right across from B's, the Doctor continued his/her story. "Well, as evident by the state I'm in right now," the Doctor motioned to him/herself, "I barely made out of the chaos alive, settled down in this crusty old shack, and opened shop in this place out in the boondocks. Granted, the town's a shit-hole, but it definitely is less dangerous than the city. Less humans, less trouble. And opportunities to operate on these creatures come by more often as well! Win-win!" The Doctor directed B's attention to the collection of bottled remnants, entrails and the like, drowned in a discolored fixative and neatly shelved as if prized collectibles of a sure rarity. Nevertheless, (s)he only managed to elicit a moment of pure, unfiltered disgust from the man. "This casual conversation about the absolute state of the world is great and all, but you haven't really answered my question." "Hmm?" confused, the Doctor pressed on, "I believe I've answered your question adequately enough, however?" "No, that's not it," B stood up from the comfort of the stone-cold, rock-hard wooden stool, and promptly made his way over to the flickering screen, as if there was this unbearable itch to present his part of the story. Acknowledging this, the Doctor turned to face the man. "It's difficult to say," he contemplated his choice of words for a moment, before arriving at an ample-enough conclusion, "but I can vaguely feel a connection with these... patients. It's just like, um, how do I say this... that feeling! When you see someone walking by the street, and you think to yourself: 'Wait, haven't I seen this guy before?', but you can't just seem to pinpoint who he is?" "Mm-hmm, continue!" "Right? A vague sense of familiarity, that I just can't seem to place. Haunting even, yet it isn't one from recollection, one that can be simply retrieved from the back of my mind if I think hard enough, no. Rather, this entire time, I could feel it coursing through my veins, my genes. The twelve of them, so fuzzily imprinted into my head, that I can't seem to make out their features. Their muffled voices, calling out through this 'mental fog', so muddled, yet with a hint of bitterness, desperation! And their feelings, resonating with mine, and tugging, right here," bumping a fist over his chest, right above the heart, B carried on, "and it's telling me that if I could reach out to all of them, somehow, somewhere! Something could be changed." Nodding his/her head to the tune of agreement, the Doctor listened on in anticipation, almost to the point of exhiliration. "Almost as if their existences, defined mine." Whereas B expected his listener to be lost in deep thought, bemused by his convoluted explanation, the Doctor displayed otherwise, and raised his/her arms, giving the man an exuberant round of applause, to which B was, very obviously, taken aback by. "Excellent, bravo! The patient has, hereby, confirmed my theory!" "Excuse me?" "I see you are intrigued. Allow me to clarify, B. Take a seat first, will you?" The perplexed man complied, and exchanged seats with the Doctor, who adjusted his/her lab coat, and prepared to present a thesis. "Synced heartbeats, a unique genetic composition, and supernatural abilities inexplicably existent: these are all symptoms demonstrated by the A-Type Factor patients, and, undoubtedly so, exhibited by you, as well. Yet, you have not manifested any powers that can influence the world, its material energy, so to speak, but rather, you appear to be a seemingly normal human, a powerless one at that. However, reality is undeniably cunning, and the truth lies in what you have just mentioned." "What do you mean?" "Indeed, you are not far-off from being diagnosed as yet another A-Type Factor patient. However, you are slightly different. When I found you at my doorstep, bleeding out in a state of near-death, a mark was left behind, engraved into the ground." From his/her pocket, the Doctor pulled out a grainy picture, that depicted B laying next to a particular symbol from Chinese philosophy, a harmonious mixture of white and black. "The symbol, of Yin-Yang?" "Yes! For a while, I wondered whether it was just some elaborate joker's scheme to pull a fast one on me for not paying last month's rent in time, but curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to, *ahem*, examine your body, to my liking." "...you're shitting me." "Hey, you can't blame me! A dead body left out in the open, calls for surgical experimentation!" Though perturbed, B allowed the Doctor to continue, seeing as how he was still alive and kicking (plus the fact that he didn't really want to bother with the Doctor's antics anymore), and though he was kinda dubious, the evidence (s)he had presented thus far, seemed genuine. "Throughout history, and among philosophers, religions and people, differing interpretations of the Yin-Yang symbol exist, but fundamentally, they are not dissimilar: the underlying concept of dualism, and that the opposite forces of nature may well be complementary and interpolate, giving birth to many things that interconnect with each other. And that's when it occurred to me, though unscientific, why there were twelve individuals affected with the A-Type Factor, instead of one, five, or even twenty! And why there was only one of you, an exceptional specimen who was afflicted with symptoms so similar, yet so different. Someone who could understand them for what they truly were, instead of what they seemed to be. Perhaps, someone who could connect them all." From out of nowhere, the Doctor retrieved a book detailing studies on ancient Chinese philosophy and cosmology, and presented the contents, a diagram depicting artistic impressions of twelve spiritual beasts encircling sacred runes, of which contained within, was the Yin-Yang symbol. "The zodiac animals." "Correct! All twelve of them assembled, taking a nice stroll along the Yin-Yang symbol. You in the middle, they connected around. And with your current symptoms, what you should do, I suppose, is pretty self-explanatory." "So, what you're saying, is that the reason I'm hearing these voices in my head, seeing these visions, and feeling what I'm feeling right now..." "...is because of your gift? Yes, of course! What I theorize shall happen, is that you go out there, find all twelve of the A-Type Factor patients, and do your thing. You're a complementary force, they the receptive and you the active. The Yin, to their Yang. And this, as defined here, the state of 'fruitful, simultaneous unity and duality', is what you should hope to achieve, on your eventual journey. Perchance, you might even find your own meaning, through theirs! Sounds exciting, isn't it?" The ecstatic doctor rambled on and on, and eventually implored the man, regarding his final decision to help out in his/her quest. "And so, what do you think of helping me? To gather together the twelve A-Type Factor individuals, both for your benefit, and mine?" As uncertain as he was, the man could not simply sit around and do nothing. Rather than getting himself nowhere, wouldn't it be better to risk it all, in uncovering the truth? And so, B, tethering on the fine line between two polar choices, reached his answer, of which he hoped was right. "My gut feeling says no, but my heart says yes. It's worth a shot, I guess." "YES!" Upon hearing this satisfactory answer, the Doctor pranced around in glee, hopping with flailing arms and emanating an air of delight, before coming to a complete halt, with the most spectacular idea he had in mind in years. "Right, this calls for a celebration, a feast! How about a small sip of the devil's brew, a drink fitting of a king... vodka perhaps? Shit's been sitting in the cellar for God knows how long!" "You have a damned cellar under this clinic?" Apparently, that retort meant "Yes" to the Doctor, who proceeded to head through the blood-stained curtain flaps and down into the musty-old basement, in search for reinvigorating alcohol hopefully not ravaged yet by the rats and mice. "Wait! Before you go down to get your bottle o' vodka or whatever!" "Hmm?" the Doctor reacted to B's call, bobbing out from beneath the curtains. "...if you refer to them as having the 'A-Type Factor', what would that make my genetic mutation?" "Eh, it'd be the 'B-Type Factor', I presume? Does that really matter, as compared to the delightful beverage awaiting us?" "Uh, no?" "Good! May our livers be riddled up with alcohol tonight!" And off the Doctor went, to claim the fine vodka, as his/her jubilance trailed off into the abyss. "Well, that was anti-climatic." ... "Wait! One more question!" "Yessss? What else could be oh so important?" the Doctor reacted, yet again, to B's call, emerging menacingly from beneath the curtains (as if it was his trademark), visibly annoyed this time round. "How do I know you're not bullshitting me, with all this scientific and philosophical nonsense?" Groaning, (s)he replied to the man's "urgent" inquiry, which was, of course, no less important than his/her bottle o' vodka. Of course. "Because I'm the Doctor, of course!" Chapter 3 Clink! With a masterful wedge-and-twist of the rusty bottle opener, caps bounced up into the air, their cheap metallic lustre reflecting into gleaming specks of light, as chilling wisps of smoke were let out from the flask's confinement, twisting the atmosphere with devilish strokes, a terrifying testament of the intoxication that was to come. The transparent liquid wasn't water, no, but instead, it was ice-cold vodka, and though it was of a questionable quality (after all, it was kept in the basement cellar for God knows how long), accompanying it was an alluring aroma, the scent of a well-aged spirit, that both the Doctor and B couldn't resist. And as the caps clattered to the floorboards with an echoing tinkle, they both thrust the glass bottles into the air, condensation trickling profusely to the base, and their arms. A mere glance was enough to tell them that they were going to enjoy this reinvigorating drink. Every last sip of it. "Cheers!" In a flash, the duo imbibed the vodka in synchronized harmony, emptying out its contents and chilling their parched throats instantaneously, yet still managing to savor the drink's sensation, its vile flavor and sour aftertaste, the spice prickling against the palate, and the malty, creamy texture of the alcohol. The Doctor lusted for another bottle, while B basked in the afterglow, his mind wandering off into an oblivion, the vodka taking away the volume of his thoughts today. ... Gulp, gulp, gulp! Pwuah! Downing his last bottle, the Doctor heaved an euphoric sigh of contentment, as B swirled around in a playful fashion, the contents of his glass, with frozen cubes submerged within, like mini icebergs in a sea of vodka. Even in his alcoholic stupor, he resisted against the demons of sleep, his drooping eyelids, and the approaching unconsciousness, almost if there was something keeping him awake, something alarmingly important... And that was when it hit him. "AHHHHHHHHH! This ain't it!" "Huh~? Hic!" the half-drunk, whimsical doctor expelled a series of unruly hiccups and sickening burps, all while trying to maintain his/her composure and the blissful look on his/her face. "What the hell are we doing?" "Isn't it obvious, B~? Belch! We're drinking! Hic!" The Doctor's comment only made him more furious. "Exactly! Why are we drinking, and not planning ahead, which was what we were SUPPOSED to do?" "Becauseー" the Doctor belched a fat one (one so indescribably disturbing that I couldn't put it into words), eyed B's shaking fist of fury, and raised yet another bottle into the air, "ーyou went along with it! Idiot~!" "..." "Hahahahahahahahahaha~! Woohoo~!" "...and how are you still alive after drinking, like, five-ish bottles of this crap?" "Iー" And just like that, the Doctor drowsily collapsed, as if the realization of how much (s)he just drank subconsciously KO-ed him/her. Gawking after, towards the Doctor's alcohol tolerance finally giving in, B breathed out a disheartened sigh, and proceeded to do an epic face-palm. Simultaneously, he massaged his temples, as the alcoholic effects subsided, and the ringing in his head persisted on. "And there the Doctor goes, out like a light..." Category:Ultraman: Into Thirteen Category:Episode